The Three Little Words Project
by HelenVanPattersonPatton
Summary: Word challenge stories: Short stories written predicated on three incongruous words. No more than 1,000 words. Idea from DeadPigeon.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's the idea as presented by DeadPigeon: **_Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them. _

**Three Story Words: **_Pop Tarts, Tonnage, Brassiere_

**Words Submitted by: **_DeadPigeon_

**Chapter Rating: ****_M (Mild M Rating)**** **This is the only *slightly* M rated chapter. Therefore I have downgraded the overall rating to T. If that changes I will readjust.  
><em>

**Word Count:**_ 935_

**Story Completion Time: **_1 ½ Hours_

* * *

><p>He walks in on her in his bathroom, studying herself carefully in the mirror. Naked.<p>

"What are you doing?"

"God, Castle. Could you knock?"

Not breaking eye contact or stepping from his spot just inside the bathroom he raises a hand and knocks on the door. Better late than never. Kate doesn't blink. Certainly doesn't smile.

"What are you doing?" Try this one more time.

"Nothing. Leave it alone."

She looks… He doesn't know what it is she looks like. He's never seen this look on her face before. He thought he'd seen them all. Guess not. He doesn't like it. She pulls her arm across her breasts, covering herself, her brassiere laid across the granite counter. She's insecure. No. That can't be right. Not Kate. Not the BAMF he loves. Sure is what it looks like though.

He's worried. This is… wrong. This isn't right. He will not leave it alone.

"Beckett." He uses her work name. At home, in his bed, she's Kate. Badass work name seems like a better place to start right now though. Just her name is enough. It will push her to say something. He's learning with her sometimes less is more.

"Have you noticed my tonnage?"

"Your what?"

"Weight, Castle? Have you noticed that I have been gaining weight?"

"Ha!" Shit. He has no fucking clue what the right answer to that question is - either way he goes is covered in land mines - but he's pretty sure that laughing was the exact *wrong* thing to start off with. Flattery. Let's start there.

"I've noticed that you are perfect."

Daggers. How is it possible to still get glared at when telling someone they're perfect? Perhaps not the informative answer she was going for.

He sighs.

"Look at this." Kate lifts her arm for him to see. Two faint red lines run around her upper torso. Like something had… OH!

"Seriously, Kate? You think you're fat because your bra's too tight?"

"I never said 'fat' Castle. I asked if you noticed I have gained weight."

Right. Big difference. Of course he had noticed. He had been the one to do it. He put that weight on her with pride. Kate was perfect, honestly and always, but the last year she was becoming all too much like the emaciated super-model version of herself. So if that meant slipping a pat of butter into her pasta, eating not all of his half of the fries, real half and half in her coffee and keeping chips, candy and boxes of Pop Tarts (which she says she hates but secretly loves to eat unheated straight out of the foil) then so be it.

And of course she's eating more. She's happy. She's in love. With him.

"Yes, Kate. I have noticed that you have gained weight."

Not daggers this time. Worse than daggers. She looks at him with something that is far too close to embarrassment. It won't be there for long. He's got this.

"I've noticed because when I touch your waist I don't feel just ribs sticking out." Not really helping the look so far. "I've noticed because when you let me snuggle with you in bed your ass bone doesn't poke me." Skies are clearing but still cloudy. "I've noticed because your breasts are bigger." There it is. The start of an irritated smile. If he plays his cards right he might even get an eye roll. "I've noticed because you went from gorgeous to so damn hot I can't keep my hands off you." Yes! An eye roll.

He's honest and will prove his point. One hand goes to her waist, palms the taught, open-air cooled skin. The other cups her breast. Feels the weight and slides a thumb across the nipple. He actually makes her gasp in surprise and it makes him feel, as it always does when he can take her breath away, like he just won a gold medal in awesome.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, Kate." He can't help but draw his mouth to hers. Punctuate his words with his tongue. He takes a step forward into her, making her take a step back. Nearer the wall. Nearer the vanity. He doesn't care which; just looking for something to press her against. He's momentarily disappointed when she pulls away.

"Can't keep your hands off me, huh? Like when?"

"Like this morning." She cocks an eyebrow wanting more details. "When you bent over to pick that file up you dropped? I could see all the way down your shirt."

"Mmm? Liked what you saw?" She's smirking now. Again completely badass and sure of herself. That moment's insecurity vanished, not even haunting the room like a ghost.

"Yeah. I liked what I saw. Almost dragged you in the break room to show you how much."

"If you do one thing for me, just one, then the next time you want to take me in the break room and have your way with me I might let you."

He starts to answer but can't. Not when she runs her tongue up the scruff of his jaw and into his ear. Not when she grinds hot, bare, open thighs on his in a way that (maybe just in his imagination) dampens his jeans.

"Don't you want to know what that one little, tiny thing is, Rick?"

Oo, first name. She's just as good as he is at playing the other.

He nods his head and strangles the word out. "Yes."

"You can have me in the break room as soon as you stop putting boxes of Pop Tarts in my desk."


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the idea: **_Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words: **_Paint, Emblazon, Rerun_

**Words Submitted by: **_DeadPigeon_

**Chapter Rating: **_K_

**Word Count: **_228_

**Story Completion Time: **_20 minutes_

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?"<p>

"I'm painting. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're playing."

"This is all just part of the process. You have your way, I have mine."

Words emblazon her once pretty blue walls in dull, classic khaki. It's the last step of moving out, moving in with him, that will hopefully insure she gets her deposit back. She should this time. Not like the last time.

_Kate Beckett's Room_ - on one side of the wall _- Rick Castle Was Here_ - on the other.

"Why are you bothering, Castle? We're just about to cover all that up as soon as I get the roller out."

"Yeah but we'll know it's here. Even once it's covered up. We know what's been written in this room."

Does he mean that to have such deep meaning? Because yeah, she does know what was written in this room. The time spent here moving them from what they were to what they are now. It's written, etched, in her mind. It runs and reruns there, all their nights and mornings together.

He pouts when she takes the brush out of his hand. She dips it in the can wiping the excess of the sides. Pout turns to interest.

Kate sweeps a large, slightly lopsided heart on the wall and fills it.

_KB + RC Forever _


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the idea:** _Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words:** _Hammer, Bible, Endearment_

**Words Submitted by:** _purplangel _

**Chapter Rating: **_T (err, or maybe K+)  
><em>

**Word Count:** _287_

**Story Completion Time:** _30 minutes_

* * *

><p>"Castle?"<p>

He was right there 90 seconds ago when she went upstairs to get the last box of decorations. His Santa's workshop/nativity scene crossover project he's been working on diligently now abandoned. A hammer sits in between the baby Jesus and an elf, handle sticking straight up. Where did he even get a hammer? Does the man own a toolbox? She's been living there two months and still can't be sure.

Kate walks closer to get a better look. Steps over the Bible in the floor open to the book of Luke. He wanted to make sure he got all the details right.

Is that blood on the carpet?

"Rick!"

She finds him sitting on the edge of their bed, a yard of toilet paper wound and dangling from his left index finger, a crimson asterisks seeping through.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, Babe, it's fine."

She glares at him at the endearment but gently unwinds the tissue from around his finger to get a better look. The nail is dark, the cuticle snarled and stained with blood, the skin angry and already bruising.

"You smashed the hell out of your finger with the hammer didn't you?"

"My second Wise Man wouldn't stay. Had to nail him down."

"No more using the hammer for a while, Killer."

Now it's his turn to glare at her endearment.

An idea dawns and he smiles. "Can I still use my *other* hammer?"

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips.

"You know when I say hammer I mean my peni…"

She shuts him up with a kiss, more to keep him from saying it than anything else. She hates it when he calls it that. But yeah, yeah he can.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeah, I went there. One cannot say hammer without it ending in a Dr. Horrible reference. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the idea:** _Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words: **_Kitty, Easter, Towel_

**Words Submitted by:** _corelliakid_

**Chapter Rating:** _K_

**Word Count:** _523_

**Story Completion Time:** _30 minutes_

* * *

><p>"Why is there no Thanksgiving mascot?"<p>

"What? What do you mean?" Alexis peeks in the oven. Turkey's browning nicely. I won't be long now.

"Christmas has Santa. Easter has its Bunny. Where is our Thanksgiving representative?" Her father asks.

"Turkey is our representative."

"That can't be right. We eat them. That's a horrible thing to do to our mascot. Nobody eats the Easter Bunny."

"You don't know that. There could be a lot of people who eat braised rabbit for Easter." She throws him that wide-eyed, slightly maniacal look that he taught her. The one that makes him proud.

"That's just wrong. Thank God it's not the Easter Kitty. Imagine the carnage. Santa better watch his back."

Alexis laughs, checks the potatoes for doneness. They are. She turns them off, lets them sit for a while before draining and mashing them. Probably another 10 minutes. She turns the heat on under the steamer of green beans that have been waiting their turn on the eye.

Castle considers it for a while. Goes back to what he was doing. Rethinks it.

"I reject your supposition that the turkey is our Thanksgiving representative. What else you got?"

"I still say turkey."

"Oh!" He spins, gesturing with an assumed empty can of cranberry sauce. "Pilgrims ar-"

"Dad!"

"What?"

Alexis tears off two sheets of paper towels. "You are getting globs of cranberry goo all over the floor." She gives him one paper towel and takes the other, helps him clean up his mess. The floor will be sticky. She'll need to mop. She'll wait until after everyone has left just in case there are more spills.

They stand and she throws away the sticky sheets.

"Pilgrims."

"Hmm?"

"Pilgrims are clearly the Thanksgiving mascot."

"Nope. It's the turkey."

He glares. She smirks. "We're going to need to settle this..."

"Kate."

"Kate!"

They call her. She emerges from the utility room behind the stairs, gold, amber and cinnamon colored cut glass candle holders in hand. She sets them on the table next to the flowers.

"You bellowed?" She joins them in the kitchen and rummages in the junk drawer for the stick lighter.

Alexis beats her father to the punch, rounds in front of him so he's separated from Kate.

"Dad says Pilgrims are the Thanksgiving mascot. I say, clearly, the *modern* representative is the turkey. We need a tiebreaker."

Rick's head peaks out over his daughters, makes a 'pick me' face.

"Hmm. That's tricky." Kate rubs a finger across her chin. It's the slight little demonstration of dramatic playing along that has been increasing ever since she moved in. "Neither."

"What?"

"What?"

"I say it's neither. Clearly the Thanksgiving symbol is the cornucopia representing a plentiful bounty in which to be thankful." All serious.

Castle stands gape-mouthed momentarily. Not what he wanted to hear.

"You have got to be kidding! The cornucopia? Really?"

"No. I'm just messing with you, Castle."

He seems relieved.

"It's *clearly* the turkey."

Kate finds the lighter and turns to go back to the candles. She turns but not before Alexis catches the sneaky smile meant for her. Yeah, it's definitely the turkey.


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the idea:** _Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words:** _Substantial, Moss, Convent_

**Words Submitted by: **_DeadPigeon_

**Chapter Rating:** _T_

**Word Count:** _583_

**Story Completion Time:** _40 minutes_

* * *

><p>"Let's find a place to sit down." Castle doesn't want to have this conversation walking down 72nd street. It unnerves him. Makes his bad knee throb. He needs something under him. Something substantial that will ground him.<p>

He takes her leather clad hand and pulls her across the crosswalk. Doesn't let go until they reach the entrance to the park. Steps on the word 'Imagine' written in mosaic in the shadow of the Dakota. Imagine is what he's been doing. He doesn't want to do that anymore.

He walks past benches, past low retaining walls. Plenty of places to sit. He doesn't want to have this discussion at all really and if he stops he'll have to talk. He's the one that brought it up in the first place but now he wishes he hadn't. Doesn't want to think about it. He keeps going and she follows.

"Rick."

Kate snags his hand, over with his procrastination. She guides them to the closest 'sitable' surface that isn't the cold ground. The moss covered boulder is not much better. All blunt edges.

She waits.

"I'm ready when you are."

He says nothing.

"Castle, it's freezing. Either start talking or let's go."

She stands.

"Wait."

She sits.

"I've just never had to discipline her before, Kate. I don't even know where to start. It's not like she's 6 and I can just take away her TV privileges. She's 18. What do you do with an 18 year old girl?"

"Well first you should talk to her. Give her a chance to explain. See if she comes clean."

"I don't *want* her to come clean. If she starts telling me details…" He shakes his head in horror.

"It can't possibly be as bad as you're imaging."

"Says you. You didn't talk to Mrs. Schliemann. You don't know what she said it… it sounded like."

"It may not have even been her. There were other people at the party. And you said it yourself – she is 18. Have you ever given her 'the talk'?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I have."

Kate raises both eyebrows in disbelief.

"Or HAD it done. Same thing."

"Not really. She needs to hear from you that she needs to respect herself enough to make the right choices."

"It's not just about the 'did she'."

"I know. I know it's not. It's about the 'with whom' so soon after breaking up with Ashley."

"She's just never been out of control before. I don't know if she is now but… I am. I don't know how to fix this, how to protect her."

"Talking to her would be a good start."

"Will you talk to her, Kate?"

"Yes." He smiles. "But I'm not going to." He frowns. "If Alexis wants to talk to me then I am *always* there for her. But you are her father and *you* need to be the one to handle this."

She's right. Dammit.

"What do I say?"

"Ask her what happened. Listen to her answer. Really listen. And don't judge her. Then do what you think's best."

"Can I not just put her in a convent until she's 30?"

"No."

"Fine. You always shoot down my best ideas."

She stands and tugs at his hand. "Come on, Castle. I'm cold and my ass is asleep."

He brushes off what may or may not be imaginary flecks of moss that stick to her slacks.

"Can I wake it up?"

"Buy me a coffee and we'll talk about it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: More words. More, more, more, more, more.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the idea:** _Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words:** _Tarantula, Typewriter, Tablecloth_

**Words Submitted by:** _corelliakid_

**Chapter Rating: **K

**Word Count:** _809_

**Story Completion Time:** _I have no freaking idea. Word crashed 3 times(!) while I was writing this. Could have been an hour, feels more like four days after having to retype it twice._

* * *

><p>"Tarantella?"<p>

"Tarantula."

"That says tarantella."

The ink pen in her hand skitters to a stop, hesitates on the cheap carbon paper leaving a solid O in black.

"That's a U, Castle. Not an E."

"Looks like an E. And tarantula only has one L."

"That is one L."

"Looks like two. There are clearly two loops."

Kate turns to the chair next to her, to the man leaning halfway across her desk to get a better look. She tries spearing him with her glower. He seems not to notice.

"Why do you have to list the spider anyway?"

Still she stares. Maybe if she stares him down hard enough he'll at least feel a little prick, a needle mark of her irritation. Make him stop antagonizing her. She's in no mood. Surely by now he should know her moods well enough to pick up on that.

"And why do you have to fill all this out by hand?"

"What are you, four? What's with all the questions? You already know the answers anyway."

He raises his eyes to her. Completely blank. She sighs.

"The *tarantula*" – she puts extra emphasis on the word, underlining disdain – "was found on the body. Therefore it's evidence. Even though we're 99% sure it has more to do with the fact that our vic was a nut who had a terrarium full of creepy-crawlies than it does the case. And the forms are carbon so either filled out by hand or by typewriter. Do you see a typewriter?"

He is undeterred, not appeased. More questions.

"You seriously can't fill this out on a form on your computer and print it when you're done?"

"No, Castle."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't. Now will you please stop asking questions so I can finish this and we can go?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." She poises the pen, straightens her spine.

"If you'll answer one more."

The glower is back. He flinches. Good. He felt it this time. He opens his mouth like a fish to say something and then shuts it again.

"Just ask." Kate sets the pen down and turns her full attention to him. Hopefully it will make him speak faster.

He hesitates then spits it out.

"Where are we going to dinner?"

"We're not going to dinner."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said but I'm not going to dinner with someone who looks like a dirty tablecloth."

"I take offence to that."

"You are covered in ketchup from lunch. You look like our vic except fewer holes."

"It's not that bad it's just a little bit here on my-" He casts his eyes down to the lemon-sized spot and accompanying inches of arterial-like spray. "-yikes. Okay, fine. I'll run home and change." Castle turns to the coat draped across the back of his chair and shakes into it.

Kate tries and succeeds at stifling a sigh of gratitude. A clean shirt and half an hour of quiet time to finish up her paperwork will go a long way in lightening her mood and enjoying their dinner. And she wants to enjoy their night together. She's wanted to take him there for weeks; been craving it.

"Before I go please tell me where you're taking me."

"Fine." She smiles genuine and happy. "Momofuku."

"Mmmm. Pork buns…." His voice low and sultry, eyes roll back slightly in his head at the thought. He's not exaggerating. They're perfect little pillows of deliciousness. That's why Kate picked it. "My god you're smart woman. How did I get so lucky?"

"You must have been very good in a past life." She teases him. Because she knows she's the lucky one. It's difficult but she tries to show him, tries to make sure he sees that she knows she is fortunate. She wouldn't have waited for him. She hadn't. Not like he waited for her. She's grateful every day for his patience.

* * *

><p>Castle changes at a land speed record. Still has twenty minutes before he needs to be back to the precinct. He sits at his desk, awakens his laptop, checks his email. As he turns to leave a few minutes later the antique metal sitting on the shelf behind his desk catches the corner of his eye.<p>

* * *

><p>Without looking up Kate knows it's Castle emerging from the elevator. The speed of his gait, the squeak of this shoes, the jangle of keys, coins, cell phone, chap stick, ink pen and – for whatever reason – a length of string in his pockets identify him to her like a fingerprint.<p>

The heavy thud of metal atop the stack of papers next to her is a surprise. He didn't. He did. She raises her eyes to the crisp white sheet of paper threaded through the wheel of the typewriter. Written only there the word – T A R A N T U L A


	7. Chapter 7

**Here's the idea as presented by DeadPigeon**: _Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words:** _Exorbitant, Martyr, Horoscope _

**Words Submitted by:** _DeadPigeon_

**Chapter Rating:** _K+_

**Word Count:** _1,380 (Oh yeah. WAY over the allotted word limit. Not my fault. Castle just wouldn't shut up. **yes I am using the 'Blame the Fictional Characters' defense**)_

**Story Completion Time:** _Over 2 Hours (Also WAY longer than it should have. Apparently this story is just filled with too much muchness. Hopefully that muchness doesn't translate into suck.)_

* * *

><p>It has taken him three months. Three months of working around her schedule, three months sneaking to the front door trying to not wake her and failing, three months of plotting, hinting, gently nudging her to stay in bed with him and read the Sunday paper. This is the Sunday it happens. It has to be. The stars have aligned. Kate's off today. Off-off - as in not even on call. Coffee has been brewed and is sitting in their respective mugs both on his nightstand. And she is still asleep. It's well after 7:30, pushing moment by moment into the 8 o'clock hour and she's still asleep. This has never happened. At least not that he can remember.<p>

Castle latches the front door soundlessly, folds the thick stack of inky pages – pages that will leave smudges on his shirt and raise to awareness the swirls of his fingerprints – and tucks it under his arm, takes a breath and holds it then rounds the door. Still sleeping. Miraculous. Hm, miraculous. This NEVER happens. What if she's getting sick? No. She's fine. He's being silly. He wants to wake her up. Make her play with him. That is a terrible idea. TERRIBLE. One does not wake up a beautifully sleeping police detective. Not one that's spent the last four days chasing down slimy killers responsible for putting a body in the Hudson. If Sleeping Beauty had been working homicide Price Charming would have been an ass disturbing her rest. Doesn't mean he doesn't still *want* to.

It's a little thing. He knows that. Knows that reading the paper, propped, mostly silent, passing sections back and forth is perfectly routine. Ordinary. And not fundamentally different from the Sunday mornings that they have spent together doing basically that exact thing across the kitchen table. The kitchen table, that's the difference. He wants to do that *in bed*. Wants to be perfectly mundane and blasé and domestic. With Kate. In bed. He's not asking an exorbitant favor. Then again he's not *asking* at all. He doesn't want her to acquiesce to him. He wants it to just happen, an organic manifestation of their comfort being together.

Fantasizing over reading the paper in bed is ridiculous. He knows that. And no other word but fantasizing is as accurate. No way to downplay it. That's what he's been doing. Picturing her reading aloud to him the pertinent details of only the interesting stories she reads. What art exhibit is opening they might be interested in; the latest posturing of local politicians; the devastating toll after a newly minted martyr in the Middle East; box scores. He pictures the words curling out of her mouth in vanishing perfection like the steam rising from their coffee. He would do his part too. Read her only the comics that make him chuckle; his horoscope despite the fact he knows she'll roll her eyes; crossword puzzle clues even though he doesn't need her help but desperately wants it.

Castle slides back under the covers as easily as he can, the spot still warm where he vacated minutes before, and places the newspaper on the comforter in between them, headlines facing Kate. He picks his mug off the table and watches the steam lift and disappear. It always makes him think of Kate and he has no idea why. His writer brain should come up with some excellent metaphor comparing the sleek and ever changing perfection of the two but he doesn't. The connection will just have to remain a mystery not unlike the woman.

The first sip is always the best. Hazelnut, cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar all punctuated with best coffee. The flavoring is his own blend. He buys plain half and half as soon as the weather starts getting cold and concocts it himself. Kate thinks it tastes weird – too many flavors – but she's wrong. It's delicious – it tastes like winter – but he won't tell her that. She can stick with her boring old vanilla if that's what makes her happy. He blows across the surface of the cup casting ripples and pushing clouds of heat in the air. He's not trying to cool it. He's aiming the smell like a missile directly towards Kate's face. It's not intentionally waking her up if she smells coffee. It's not. It's also not working. He blows harder. Hard enough to push the overly full cup to brim over and send fat drops of sticky hot liquid running down his fingers. Ouch.

Kate rolls over. Rolls onto the paper – it crinkles – he holds his breath. This is it.

Long fingers find their way up from the warm depths of the covers to shield her eyes. In between knuckles he sees mossy green slits open then close.

"Time is it?"

"After 8:00."

The corner of her lip pulls up in a smile like it is being lifted by a string. The mossy green slits open and close a few more times before standing wide for keeps.

"Is that coffee?"

"Uh huh."

He twists around for her mug while she braces and hoists herself up, leans her back against the headboard same as Castle. She braces with one hand square in the middle of the paper.

This is it.

It is several cautionary sips and sighs later before she speaks again.

"8:00? Really?"

"8:00's not that late."

"It is when you go to bed at 9:30."

"You had a long week." That was the truth.

She hums her agreement and takes another sip.

"Thank you for the coffee." She casts him a smile. One of the ones he's just now getting to see. One that he's just now learning. It's her still-half-asleep-disheveled-and-still-cute-as-hell-smile. It would knock his socks off if he were wearing any. "You have something else for me?"

The paper.

He thinks it but doesn't say it. He wants her to get there on her own so he simply raises an eyebrow in question instead.

She answers him with her free hand to the back of his head and coffee warmed mouth on his. Not what he was expecting. Sneak attack of the best order. Her kiss is as unhurried, as sleepy and sexy as the woman herself. With the little maneuvering room he has he still finds a way to get fingers up the sleeve of her shirt to the skin of her shoulder. Skin hot with sleep and tattooed from the sheets. Languidly she pulls away, his lips sad to see her go.

"Mmm, like cinnamon." She doesn't say this to him, just says it. It is something she does. He learned to quit commenting. She does it at random times after kissing him, normally when her guard is completely down and she doesn't realize she's doing it aloud. Like he's a Baskin Robins. The 31 Flavors of Richard Castle. Every time it tickles him with excitement to think that she might actually be as fixated on all the little things about him like he is with her. The little things. Like the paper.

Castle plucks the top section and peals it away from its counterparts leaving still an inch from which to choose. Sets his cup aside, snaps the paper at the fold so it will stay up, starts scanning at the top left corner and working his way down but *really* watching her out of the corner of his eye. Nothing. She sips her coffee. With every sip her eyes get clearer. He opens to the second page, then the third, then the forth. Kate sets her now empty mug on the nightstand.

"May I have a pen?" She asks. His top drawer is littered with writing implements and paper. He never knows when an idea will come to him that will vanish once his feet hit the floor. Best be prepared. He hands it over. She snags his lips again quick, filled with tongue and gratitude.

"What's that for?"

"The pen. And bringing me coffee. And bringing the paper. You want to help me do the crossword puzzle?"

He hopes she doesn't call him out on why he's grinning like an idiot and strangles on the word 'yes'. It won't come out of his throat so he nods. He would love to do the crossword with her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Here's the idea as presented by DeadPigeon: **_Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words:** _Peanuts, Hydrogen, Leap_

**Words Submitted by:** _bookylex_

**Chapter Rating:** _K+_

**Word Count:** _1,021 (Over, but not nearly as over as the last chapter.)_

**Story Completion Time:** _20 minutes here and there over the last two days. So yeah._

**A/N:** _Up to this point we have been operating under the inference that Castle and Beckett are together and then living together. This is not that._

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><p>Eddie has been pressuring him with ideas. He's the manager, thinks he can improve business - "bring them into the 21st century" - but there is no way in hell Rick is letting him turn The Old Haunt - HIS old haunt - into a gastro pub. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But Rick has no desire to bring his bar into the 21st century. The whole point of him buying it was to keep in firmly rooted in history. A portal to the way things used to be. And that's where it will stay.<p>

No aromatically infused anything. Nothing that ends in white truffle oil or topped with oddly flavored foam sprayed from a quasi-futuristic canister. No flash frozen perfectly tiny spheres of melon juice made to look like beads of caviar. If the words Hydrogen Ion Concentration, Rotary Evaporator, Spherification or Chemistry are used? No. Molecular gastronomy? No, thank you. There is a place for that and it's NOT the Old Haunt.

They're sticking with Alejandro (chef/assistant-manager/dishwasher/bouncer) and his delicious and classically prepared choices: Club sandwiches on really fresh bread with extra crispy bacon, beer cheese soup made from their best selections on draft, homemade pretzels, and peanuts in wooden bowls on the bar. That and a scant few other basics is ALL they need.

And that is exactly what Rick is going after. At 12:30 on a Wednesday night (err, Thursday morning…) the kitchen has long since closed. He finds Alejandro working tucked away in the tiny little office off the kitchen used for ordering and taking stock. He so generously agrees to make them dinner, always the generous sort. Two clubs sandwiches, one bowl of soup and soft pretzel, one burger – hold the onion – and a plate of fries to share. All for Beckett, Ryan, Esposito and Castle himself.

Orders placed and a folded bill of unknown but invariably high denomination slipped to the grateful chef, Rick makes his way from the kitchen back to the group – his team. Adrenaline still pumping from such a beautiful takedown he pops both his hands hard at the swinging door separating the kitchen from the waitron station leading to the booths. It hits something hard blocking his way.

"Ouch!"

"Beckett?"

He shimmies through the opening to find her standing back against the wall hand to her face. Great. They make it through the day chasing down deranged killers trying desperately to inflict bodily harm unscathed and *he* gives her a bloody nose with a kitchen door. Great.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Can you get me a tissue?"

He rounds back in the kitchen, grabs two large squares of paper towels, then out again.

"Here."

He can't see the smile under her hand but he can hear it.

"Gee, Castle, I'm not sure that's going to be enough."

He holds the sheets out to her. She folds them four times and dabs, three small, bright dots appear.

Seeing even just a fleck of her blood knowing that he caused it twists at his ribs.

"God, Kate. I'm sorry."

He takes a step. Without thinking his hand comes to her face. Fingers spanning her cheek, pushing in her hair, thumb by the bridge of her nose. He didn't mean to touch her. He really didn't. But he did. He didn't mean to be standing almost pressed against her and she against the wall. But he is.

"Castle."

It's a warning. He doesn't know what kind though. Is it a "You're too close and shouldn't be touching me" or a "Kiss me now before I change my mind?"

He's going with the latter.

Slowly, brings his other hand up to her face. Slowly, presses into her, starting at the knees and working his way up to their chests. He stoops, just an inch, so they are completely even. Her eyes light and flicker down to his lips. He loves it when she does that. Wonders if she is conscious of doing it or if it's uncontrolled? An unauthorized motion on her eyes part?

Her exhalation skirts his lips, shooting fireworks off in his blood just feeling her breath on his mouth. How long has he waited for this? How long has he wanted her? And now she's pressed against his wall, eyes shut and lips parted.

Cue ball crashing into a tightly packed rack that skitter balls across felt covered slate makes him leap, makes his skin jump in apprehension not anticipation. A murmured laugh and insult from familiar voices invade the space that had just been clutching only Kate. Ryan and Esposito. Both just on the other side of that wall not three feet away. Alejandro on the other side of the door. The three usual sad sacks that practically keep his bar open, propping it up like Atlas, almost within spitting distance.

This is wrong.

He has waited almost four years to kiss her. REALLY kiss her. And now HERE? No. It wasn't right. Not at all like he wanted. There was too much room for error. They could blame it on the excitement of closing such a big case. Blame it on the exhaustion. Blame it on the beer and a half they'd both had. So easily be interrupted. No. Not here.

He kisses her cheekbone above the web of his hand, her skin running cool and liquid like mercury. He lingers, desirous, then pulls away.

The flash of lust and honest disappointment in her eyes might even be better than any kiss. *might* Kate's brow quickly furrows and an angry look like she truly fears he is messing with her slides like a mask over her features.

He can't have that. Has to make her understand that any hesitation is a sign of just how much he wants her always, not just in this moment. He draws lips to her ear.

"Not here."

He watches as the words unspoken seep in her brain. Later. Soon. He sees her acknowledge them. Accept and wait for them. Soon.

The swinging door smacks Castle square in the back as Alejandro makes his way, food in hand, to their table.

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><p><strong>AN:** _Can't decide if I really like this chapter or if it's just unbelievably all over the place. My opinion is irrelevant. If *you* liked it please let me know. :) I'm outta words, peeps. Gimme, gimme, gimme._


	9. Chapter 9

**Here's the idea as presented by DeadPigeon: **_Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them._

**Three Story Words:** _Desert, Cipher, Secretary_

**Words Submitted by:** _actuallyido_

**Chapter Rating:** _K+_

**Word Count:** _946_

**Story Completion Time:** _45 minutes_

**A/N:** _Up until chapter 8 we have been operating under the inference that Castle and Beckett are together and then living together. This is not that._

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><p>The words hitch dry and gritty in the desert of his throat. He can't bring himself to look back at the murder board. Cannot look at what it clearly looks like up there. He knows Kate must see it. He can't look at her either. Not yet. Castle swallows the words that stick; their sharp edges burn down his esophagus.<p>

"Anything new on our dead secretary?" Esposito asks. He mustn't see it. If he had made the connection then he wouldn't be so easy with Kate. Wouldn't be talking about their victim like she was just their ordinary case. Well, this woman was just an ordinary case but that's not how it felt.

Castle risks a sideward glance at her face just in time to see the slash of dark hair cover ashen cheek as Kate turns. She makes it all the way to the doors of the stairway before Castle's able to make his legs work in pursuit.

"What'd you say?" He hears Ryan mutter to his partner as he makes his way after Kate. This isn't Espo's fault but hopefully Ryan will see the problem and clue the other man in.

By the time he makes it to the stairs Kate is nowhere to been seen. Damn. Up or down? She could have fled the precinct or could be headed for the roof. The little exit to the roof opening on the 10'x10' pea gravel covered space in between central units isn't supposed to be accessed by anyone besides maintenance but he has a feeling that's where she's headed. She wants space not people so not the street then.

He doesn't have to go that far to find her. She's sitting on the top step, back against the metal door. Kate doesn't flinch, doesn't speak when he pushes at her with his hip and scoots her against the wall so there is enough room for his broad frame next to her. He still doesn't have the right words for her.

It's not the same. This dead secretary in an ally with three stab wounds is not her mother. This dark haired woman was not assassinated. Murdered, yes, but not killed by a professional. Dick Coonan is dead. He didn't do this. It is a horrid, bloody coincidence. Surely that doesn't make it any easier on the woman next to him on the step. Knowing it didn't make it any easier to look at even for Castle so knowing that must not do a thing to ease Kate's pain.

He can't tell her that. He can't push and ask her to talk to him about it. She knows he gets it and that will have to be enough. He'll sit there with her until she either pushes him away or the silent streak of moisture dries on her face.

They sit for a long time and she doesn't push him away but the moisture never slows. How long they sit in silence he doesn't know but long enough for his butt to fall asleep. It's so quiet he would swear he can hear every tear drop and absorb into her slacks. He covers the growing spot on her knee with his hand, warming the wet fabric, willing it dry. The salty drops fall off her chin and hit the back of his palm instead. That's okay. He'll catch her tears always. Take on her pain and make it his own.

A few stuttering deep breaths and the drops on his hand stop. Castle runs his hand across her knees, down her calf and hooks her kneecap with the crook of his arm pulling her legs firmly against him. She knocks her head against his shoulder in return with a puff of breath that sounds suspiciously more like a laugh than a sigh.

He pulls back to get the first good look at her face. He doesn't know what he's expecting. He's praying it's not shame or shyness like it would have been even a year ago. It will hurt like hell if she still feels like she needs to hide this part of herself from him or be embarrassed. But no, it's neither of those. Heavy wet lashes lift and he has a clear look in her eyes. The feelings are all there, written in a cipher that only he can read. Just for him. He doesn't have to hear it. This is enough for now. As long as they both feel it.

The pink in the whites of her eyes make the irises a vibrant green. It's a beautiful shade and if tears are what cause it then he hopes he never sees that color again.

"Thank you." It's no more than a whisper but being so close to her face in such an empty stairwell the words sound loud and bounce like a slinky down the steps away from him.

He wants to say always. It's on his tongue. But she knows that. They both know.

He twists and tilts his head instead and flicks the thumb of his freehand across the baby soft and swollen skin under her eyes dragging a fingerprint of wet with the every swipe.

"Yeah." He brushes the words along her cheeks.

She gives him a small blessing of a smile. Castle stands and extends a hand.

"You ready?"

Kate exhales, stands and takes his hand.

She holds it until they make it down to their floor and lets it go finally with a squeeze. She pushes Kate down and Detective Beckett rises to the surface. Her heels click at a clip as she makes her way back to the board.

Strong, assertive, "Hey, Espo. What do we got?"


End file.
